


The Special Ingredient

by herprettysleeper



Series: Holidays With You [1]
Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: (it's very minor this is a fluff fic), Baking, Brendon can bake, Christmas Fluff, Fluff, Holidays, M/M, Patrick Stump is too good for the world alright, Yes I wrote a holiday fic in April sue me, depiction of blood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-05
Updated: 2017-04-05
Packaged: 2018-10-15 05:37:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10550970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/herprettysleeper/pseuds/herprettysleeper
Summary: In which Brendon is upset that he can't find the last ingredient of his family's traditional Christmas cookies, and Patrick decides to take the opportunity to be Brendon's knight in shining armor (as well as personal baking supplies deliverer).





	

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I am perfectly aware that it is not, in fact, Christmas right now. Brentrick's got me, guys. It's got me bad.
> 
> But then again, if it is Christmas when some of you read this, I hope you have a lovely holiday.

“Okay, so we’ve got brown sugar, molasses, vanilla, flour, butter, baking powder…hm.” Brendon frowns a bit.

“What’s wrong?” Patrick asks.

Their small, cozy house is fully decorated, and the Christmas lights are starting to gleam more, now that it’s seven and the sunlight is slowly vanishing.

It’s the eve of the holiday, and it’s been filled with a bunch of baking, which Brendon has a surprising affinity for. There are pans of brownies and cakes already half-eaten on the counter. It’s mostly been a charade of sharing batter, and occasionally serenading each other with eggnog, which Brendon keeps attempting to spike. Thankfully, Patrick’s got a good nose.

But now Brendon’s worrying his lip, looking around for some sort of spice for the traditional cookies that he’s been raving about all year.

“I was sure we had it…” He looks through the cabinets and drawers and makes an exasperated sound.

“What are you looking for?”

“Cardamom,” Brendon says absently, continuing his search. “I bought a bunch of pods, and you have to grind them fresh or else it comes out all wrong.”

“Where’s the last place you saw them?” Patrick figures that’s a good place to start, in the world of looking for lost things.

"I’m not sure– _shit._ "

“What?”

Brendon buries his head in his hands. "I threw them away last month. They were old. _Shit._ "

“Could you substitute?”

“No,” Brendon says sadly. “The stores are all closed too, today and tomorrow. I guess I’ll just make them after Christmas.”

But Patrick can see that Brendon’s upset. He’s been looking forward to this all year, and it must suck…

“I’ll go find some,” Patrick says. There isn’t really much thought process involved in it. “Somewhere’s gotta be open. I mean, not everyone celebrates Christmas anyway.”

“Yeah, sure, but I’m pretty sure most people take winter break off for other holidays too.”

“I can do this,” Patrick assures, and Brendon gives him a skeptical look, but Patrick kisses Brendon’s cheek and grabs the keys. “I’ll be right back.”

“Alright, Pat, just drive safe,” Brendon says, but Patrick’s already flown out the door.

~*~

Every store is closed.

The main shops, the specialty shops, even health food stores. He keeps circling around town, hoping to find some hole in the wall that might get him killed but might also have cardamom pods, which, at this point, will be worth it.

Why did he decide to this again? Right. Brendon. Yeah, good reason. The best reason.

Patrick drives in circles for about an hour, and it’s just past eight o’clock. It’s quite dark, and Patrick is about to head home when he sees it.

It’s a crappily maintained building, but it says it’s a health food supply/specialty store. Even if it looks like a serial killer hideout.

He enters the shop, and the owner looks up at him. He smiles slightly and quickly looks through the aisles. Dried banana slices, dehydrated chili peppers, vanilla beans–yes, thank God.

Patrick picks up the cardamom pods and goes over to check out. It’s overpriced, but it doesn’t matter.

“Is that all?” the cashier drawls, and Patrick nods.

“Thanks–” out of the corner of his eye, in a room behind the cashier, there’s red splattered across the floor and what looks like a person’s foot.

Patrick swallows and musters a smile. “Thank you.”

He gets out of the shop and into his car as fast as he can, and steps on it.

~*~

Patrick stumbles into the house, the snow in his hair starting to melt and drip down the strands of his hair.

Brendon seems relieved to see him. “You didn’t have to do that,” Brendon says, and Patrick makes a nonchalant sound that does not match his mood whatsoever.

He plops the huge bag of cardamom pods on the counter and slumps against it. “I looked everywhere, but all the stores were closed, so I found this little shop like an hour out, and I think that I bought these from a murderer–”

Brendon rounds the counter and his arms wrap around Patrick’s middle. “Thanks, babe,” he says and kisses behind Patrick’s ear, and Patrick decides that this–Brendon near him–is all he really needs.

“I think we should report the murder,” Patrick says, a little breathless.

“On the twenty-sixth,” Brendon says against Patrick’s skin, and Patrick is all too happy to agree.


End file.
